


Each Memory

by orphan_account



Series: Happiness Would Come [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/F, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first meeting, their first kiss and their first time, though not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This has turned into a series. A full blown series. I don't know what I'm getting myself into. Seriously. Just idek but I'm having fun with my plotting. For those wondering, their first meeting occurs in their first year, first kiss in fifth year and first time sometime after they leave Hogwarts and get a flat in London.  
> Un-betaed and not brit-picked. Any pointers and comments would be welcomed!
> 
>  **ETA** : Right so I changed Molly to Matthew. Slight change but definitely significant in later stories!
> 
> Fic can also be found [here](http://sandedletters.livejournal.com/9819.html) on LJ.

Joan kisses her way down Sherlock's neck, hands tangling in her long dark curls. She savours this pliant Sherlock for a few moments, exploring the expanse of skin offered to her, before Sherlock begins to reach back to touch. Her slim hands move down to Joan's shirt, pulling it up, exposing her skin to the air.  
  
She gasps when Sherlock goes directly for her breasts and Sherlock uses this momentary distraction to flip Joan over. She blinks at the change but moves her arms up as Sherlock pushes the shirt up over her head. The article of clothing is thrown somewhere over the bed and onto the floor, joining her jumper and boots; Joan finds no time to spare a thought for cleanliness before her attention is drawn back to the young woman above her.  
  
Settling herself more comfortably on Joan's hips, Sherlock's mouth sweeps down to touch skin. Hissing at hot breath ghosting over her neck Joan tries unsuccessfully to stop the moan that slips from her mouth when Sherlock's hand moves between her legs.  
  
Not fair, she thinks. Joan wants to touch Sherlock. She needs to touch her and Sherlock is being... being something. Joan gasps when her bra is pushed aside and Sherlock's tongue swirls around her nipple. She needs to touch Sherlock, she thinks again. And this time the thought takes hold while Sherlock pulls away to travel down her stomach.  
  
“Sherlock.”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“Sherlock. Look listen will you just stop and—?”  
  
She sits up, brow raised. Joan suppresses the noise of protest at the loss of heat and looks up at her girlfriend.  
  
“You wanted me to stop?” Sherlock asks.  
  
“Oh shut up, that's not what I meant,” Joan reaches up and pulls her down by the collar. “Come here.”  
  
Sherlock moves obligingly and Joan brings her down for a kiss. She parts her mouth and Sherlock's tongue reaches out eagerly. They curl around each other and Joan thinks not for the first time, how she'd love to kiss this mouth forever.  
  
 **.**  
  
Sherlock and Joan were huddled under a tree and staring up at the sky when Sherlock raised her wand. Leaves began to dance around in the air above them.  
  
“Show-off,” Joan laughed.  
  
“Practising,” Sherlock said.  
  
Joan watched the leaves for a few minutes before flicking her wand over to the twigs on the ground. They flew straight through each of the leaves and pinned them down. Joan smiled at Sherlock who narrowed her eyes but with an amused quirk gracing her lips.  
  
“ _Incendio_.” Sherlock pointed her wand and the twigs burst into flames.  
  
Joan rolled her eyes. “ _Aguamenti_.” Water issued from her wand and the twigs sizzled out. “Really Sherlock?”  
  
“Bored.” Sherlock said.  
  
“Do you want to go for a walk in Hogsmeade? Maybe get a butterbeer?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“So then do you want to go work on our essays for Professor B—?”  
  
“Finished that last night.” Sherlock moved further down onto the ground allowing her entire body to stretch out on the grass.  
  
“You... You finished a two feet essay on troll wars in a night?” Joan stared at her friend incredulously.  
  
“Four hours and it was four feet.” Sherlock corrected.  
  
“Right then, overachiever.” Joan sat up straighter and reached over for her bag. “Seeing as how I'm not done I might as well—”  
  
“No.” Sherlock sat up glaring. “You have two more days to finish it. Stay.”  
  
Joan raised her brows at her before she sighed and leaned back against the tree. Sherlock watched her for a few moments, probably waiting for Joan to get up and start running back up the grounds to the castle, before lying down once more. Shaking her head, Joan closed her eyes, and wondered why of all people she chose to befriend this girl.  
  
 **.**  
  
Joan looked down the station, pushing her trolley along uneasily. Her parents walked behind her, whispering to each other in low tones.  
  
“I'm fairly certain this platform doesn't exist.”  
  
“Quiet, Joan can hear you.”  
  
“Well I'm just saying—”  
  
“Here.” Joan said at last. “This is where Mike said it'd be... I just have to run up to it.”  
  
“Run up to—Joan are you sure?” Her father stared down at her.  
  
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “I'll—I'll go first then, shall I?”  
  
“We'll be right behind you, dear.” Her mother smiled.  
  
She took a deep breath and set her trolley directly in front of the barrier.  
  
“Make sure you don't stop,” Mike told her back in Flourish  & Blotts. “It's always better to go at a bit of a run too.”  
  
Keeping these words in mind, she began to run up to the barrier. She tried to keep her eyes open, but just at the last minute she closed them, preparing herself for the inevitable crash. When she felt none, she opened her eyes and found herself standing on a platform filled with people. Next to the platform was a scarlet steam engine. Students were leaning out of the windows, talking to parents and siblings.  
  
She looked behind her and saw her parents standing there, looking a little dazed but otherwise fine. In the archway above them were the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_.  
  
As Joan was rolling her trolley down the platform, her name was called out. She turned and saw Mike not far behind her, pushing a trolley with his own belongings in front of him.  
  
“Oh hello,” Joan smiled. “Mum, dad, this is Mike Stramford.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Watson,” Mike greeted. “My parents are coming up behind me.”  
  
Behind him were his parents looking a little out of sorts with their regular clothing. Mrs. Stramford didn't look too bad with her long blue flower patterned dress but Mr. Stramford was wearing a pair of loose ripped jeans and a dress shirt complete with ruffles. Joan suppressed a giggle.  
  
“Want to go look for a seat together?” Mike asked.  
  
“All right.” She nodded.  
  
After receiving some help from their parents, the two got their trunks up the steps and headed down the train in search of an empty compartment. They found one, near the end of the train and after setting their trunks in the luggage rack and leaving behind Mike's toad and Joan's barn owl, they got off the train to give their parents one final goodbye.  
  
“Send us an owl when you get there, we want to know which house our son gets into,” Mr Stramford said.  
  
“House?” Joan's father asked.  
  
“Oh, the children are sorted into houses,” Mrs. Stramford explained. “They become like a family to them—”  
  
A whistle interrupted their conversation so after a quick hug from their parents, Joan and Mike hopped back onto the train. They waved from the window as the train sped away. Joan tried not to think of her nervousness of being so far from home and from her family (she felt a pang of sadness that her older brother had preferred to stay home than see his sister off) nor of how little she knew of the wizarding world. Mike had told her there were plenty of students like her.  
  
Shaking her head from these thoughts Joan followed Mike to their compartment. A few students were still dragging their trunks along the train, hoping for seats, others ran past them, laughing, and others already in their robes were yelling at those who were running. When they finally reached their compartment, they found two girls standing in front of it, glaring at each other with another smaller boy standing between them, looking a little worried as he stared at the girls. One of the girls currently glaring, had changed into her robes and pinned to her chest was a shiny badge with the letter _P_ on it. She looked slightly older then the other girl despite their almost equal height. The younger girl was wearing a plain black skirt and a purple dress shirt; Joan noticed her curls were rather pretty.  
  
“I don't need you to babysit me Mycroft, I'll be fine on my own. Matthew is keeping me company.”  
  
“Like it or not, Mummy asked me to keep an eye on you. I just need to know which compartment you'll be in so I can send—”  
  
“We haven't found one yet,” the small boy beside them said. “Sher—”  
  
“Hello,” Mike said. “I'm sorry if you don't mind me interrupting but we have room in our compartment if you'd don't mind sharing one. It's just behind you.”  
  
The girl with curly hair turned to him, sharp grey eyes assessing Joan and Mike in turn. Her anger smoothed out and was replaced by what Joan recognized as triumph.  
  
“See Mycroft? Now will you kindly piss off?”  
  
The older girl glared for a moment before rolling her eyes, “Anthea and I will be making hourly checks on you. So you better be here.”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes,” the other girl replied with an impatient wave of her hand. “Matthew and I will be here.”  
  
Mycroft turned to go, ignoring Mike and Joan completely as she made her way past them. Mike moved forward and pulled open the door, beckoning the others inside. The boy, Matthew, went in first, offering a small smile as he bent down to pick up a ginger cat from the floor.  
  
“Matthew Hooper,” he said. “Thank you for letting us sit with you.”  
  
“No problem,” Mike replied. “Everywhere else is full I expect. My name's Mike Stramford by the way. That's Joan Watson there.”  
  
“Hello,” Joan smiled. She turned to the other girl who strode in, eyeing the luggage rack with interest as a black cat slunk in beside her. “And you are...?”  
  
“Muggle-born or half?” She asked abruptly.  
  
“Sorry?” Joan blinked.  
  
“Muggle-born or half?” she repeated.  
  
“Muggle-born,” Mike said.  
  
“What's a muggle-born?” Joan asked.  
  
“It's the term used for witches or wizards without magical parents,” Mike explained.  
  
“How did you know I was one or the other?” Joan turned to the girl who was now sitting on the seat by the door. “You just met me.”  
  
“I would have recognized your surname if you were from an old magical family. If your mother was a witch then her surname would have changed thus it would have been impossible to be certain without asking.” She explained. “Oh and the name is Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
 **.**  
  
Joan smiled a little fondly at the memory. Even then Sherlock had been arrogant. As if that were a natural trait one could be born with. Joan turned to look down at her companion. Sherlock's eyes were closed and she had the tips of her fingers pressed together over her chest.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” Joan asked.  
  
Sherlock didn't bother responding other than with a raised brow.  
  
“Come on, don't leave me talking to myself Sherlock.”  
  
“You.”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“I was thinking about you,” Sherlock explained.  
  
Joan blinked a couple of times. What could Sherlock possibly be thinking about her? Was it an experiment? Was Sherlock thinking of—  
  
“Oh be a little more creative Joan, my life doesn't completely revolve around experiments,” Sherlock said.  
  
Joan suppressed a laugh as Sherlock's eyes opened to glare at her.  
  
Shrugging Joan went on to say, “it's you. Of course it's about an experiment.”  
  
Sherlock crossed her arms and Joan giggled.  
  
“I don't see what's so amusing,” Sherlock said.  
  
“You are,” Joan replied.  
  
Sherlock's expression flickered for a moment, and Joan was fascinated to see a faint pink tinge her cheeks. Before she could inspect further, Sherlock was already sitting up abruptly, pushing herself off the ground. She began to pace furiously, throwing looks at Joan every so often.  
  
Joan watched in confusion before chalking it up to her previous theory of Sherlock wanting to try an experiment on her. She was just about to reach over for her bag to get out a piece of parchment on which to doodle when Sherlock suddenly hovered over her, gaze set intently upon her face.  
  
“Sherlock, um. What are you doing?” Joan asked.  
  
“An experiment,” Sherlock murmured. “Just... hold still.”  
  
Joan did as she was told, looking up at Sherlock and trying not to stare anywhere but at her eyes. She found her gaze slipping however, to Sherlock's cheekbones—sharp and impossibly beautiful—then down to her cheeks—pale—before swooping down to her lips—small, pretty, pink—and fixating there stubbornly. She watched, entranced as Sherlock's tongue peeked out to sweep quickly across her lips before suddenly they were on hers, a swift gentle pressure that left Joan blinking as soon as it was over.  
  
Sherlock turned away abruptly. Joan looked at her back for a moment or two before suddenly she was up and scrambling to find Sherlock's line of sight.  
  
“What was that for?” Joan asked.  
  
“I told you,” Sherlock replied, averting her eyes when Joan reached out to grip her shoulders to keep her from moving away. “It was an experiment.”  
  
“Bollocks,” Joan said. “Sherlock that was your first kiss. Don't lie to me. I know you haven't been with... anyone. I—Sherlock why?”  
  
Sherlock looked up at her for moment before she shrugged out of Joan's hold and turned to look up at the tree.  
  
“Sherlock...” Joan began in a low voice. “Sherlock why did you kiss me?”  
  
Still, her friend refused to look at her. Joan was beginning to get annoyed. She hated it when Sherlock did this. Shutting herself away with a simple turn of her back, refusing to speak for hours on end. How did she expect Joan to stick around if it felt like she was talking to a brick wall? And if this was what she thought it was then... then she needed to know for sure. She needed to know if Sherlock... if Sherlock—  
  
“Needed more data.” Sherlock's voice was small.  
  
Joan's heart began to beat faster as she moved a little closer. “And was it sufficient?”  
  
Sherlock made no reply. Joan bit her lip before clearing her throat uncertainly.  
  
“Well... if you're still unsure. You're welcome to repeat the experiment,” Joan said. “If you'd like to of course.”  
  
Sherlock turned around to look at her, eyes a little wide before her face broke into a grin. Joan moved forward first, reaching out for Sherlock's curls as Sherlock moved her hands to her cheeks. The kiss was as chaste as the first and Joan wasn't surprised to find Sherlock's eyes open throughout the kiss, gazing into hers. They broke away, Joan with a giggle and Sherlock with a small amused huff.  
  
“Let's go get something to eat,” Joan said, reaching down to pull Sherlock's hand between hers.  
  
“Not hungry,” Sherlock said.  
  
“But I am,” Joan smiled. “Come on.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
 **.**  
  
Joan groans, jolted out of her memory as Sherlock's hand worms its way into her jeans, pressing between her legs, insistently.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joan whispers.  
  
“That's the idea,” Sherlock replies.  
  
It's a flurry of movement after that; Joan reaches up, pulling at the buttons barely keeping Sherlock's shirt on, impatiently pushing at her skirt when she's done with those. Joan takes in the stretch of pale skin over Sherlock's body before she reaches down to press her fingers into her hips, delighting in the sudden hiss that comes out of her girlfriend's mouth. Cursing under her breath, Joan flips Sherlock over again, pressing her into the mattress, mouth moving down her stomach and between her legs.  
  
Sherlock's breathing becomes shallow as Joan's breath sweeps over her sex. Pulling Sherlock's legs over shoulders, Joan sets to work, eagerly, soaking up the tiny sounds that escape from Sherlock. It doesn't take long before Sherlock shudders around her, muttering nonsense under her breath as she arches off the bed.  
  
Licking her lips, Joan moves up to the space beside her, reaching for her head, intent on giving her a kiss before Sherlock completely surprises her, pushing her down, and slipping two fingers inside of her and curling up. Joan moans, unsure whether to move into the pressure or away.  
  
Sherlock shifts and presses her mouth back over Joan's breasts, sucking one nipple between her teeth. Joan, feels her mind crumble under Sherlock's touch, fading into a whimper as she throws her head back, gasping.  
  
Dimly she notices Sherlock reach over for her wand on the bedside table.  
  
“ _Accio,_ ” she says.  
  
Joan stirs when she feels a towel move between her legs. She looks over and watches Sherlock throw the towel on the floor before moving to lie beside her. Joan shifts and turns on her side, reaching over to curl her arm around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock flicks her wand down at the sheets bunched around their feet and Joan murmurs her approval at the warmth and settles in for sleep.  
  
She can feel Sherlock's gaze on her and smiles when a brief kiss is pressed to her temple, with a hushed, “beautiful.”


End file.
